


Love's Labors Won

by AstraKiseki



Category: Exalted
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Food Porn, Gen, Heroic Mortals, Lunars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstraKiseki/pseuds/AstraKiseki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A White Elephant gift for someone on the WW forums in 2011.</p><p>For all that she is your superior, there's still a time when you can show your heart.  Often by way of her stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Labors Won

It had taken months of preparation, and it hadn't been simply for the difficulty of transportation to this small village. Some of the ingredients were easy to obtain in this farmer's village, a fine white powder as soft as a lover's cheek, pale ovals like stones. The villagers had been indulgent, well aware of his usual eccentrics, a welcome thing even if the yokels didn't realize the value of the alchemical substances he had brought in, small vials of golden liquid that brimmed with foam when he opened them to carefully inhale their perfume, a delicate, sweet smell that was bore a distant kin to the leathery crescents that had arrived with them from hundreds of miles away, a pretty silver paid for them. And yet they were still not the most difficult or expensive thing to obtain. No, that had arrived first, accompanied by an explosion of color in the trees, gold, orange and reds, reds that had been put to shame by the dark mahogany flask delivered to him, smelling of drier days, of spring before the rains and reminding him of the caves of home.  
  
Oh, it was fond memories, thoughts that made the alchemist smile as he toiled over his work. The first ingredient to be used had been those damnable crescents, the heart and soul of the whole concoction he planned to make, the wooden bottle's contents poured and mixed with crystals, and left to steep. Liquid was needed for the leathery pieces to restore themselves to their former glory and beyond, becoming fat and sweet under his watchful gaze. At times, he would glance outside at the window, noticing the snow falling outside and turning away to feed the flames of his workshop, hoping that she wouldn't leave, not yet.  
  
His hands cupped the vial of gold, the sunlight casting the room in a rainbow of hues as he continued to let the liquid be warmed by his hands, eying the pot next to him, already pre-warmed and filled with a pale foamy sludge. So many things had to be kept at specific temperatures, else they would fizzle or fade, wasting weeks of labor. Finally, the fluid was just warm enough, and he poured some of the elixir into the pot, mixing it with a careful stir. After a short time, he cracked the oval stone and let its contents fall into the pot, the powder, the sea crystals he always carried with him for alchemical reasons, the rest of the amber liquid, and left it again, preparing a second pot full of oil, another nervous glance outside.  
  
She had made mention of leaving soon, wasn't it today? It scared him. She never stayed long, he knew that, but...  
  
Just this once. They had worked together to create wonders here, and just this once, he wanted to show he could do something wondrous alone. A little alchemy...  
  
He sighed. It'd take the sun moving a few degrees for the base to be ready, and while the instructions had other preparations in mind, the pieces were already prepared, which meant all he could do was wait and stew and fear he would be too late. Dammit. The man took a slow, deep breath. He shouldn't panic, he he knew if she was leaving, she wasn't going to leave until high noon. The nearest village beyond was reachable by sunset from then, with her abilities more than enough to allow her to bypass the snow all together...  
  
Soon, the things were ready, allowing him to coat the sweet-smelling pieces into the now-bloated base, then dropping them into the oil, the sharp sizzle as the batter fried, drying them off and tossing them into a carefully treated bag as he kept glancing outside. His hands were quick, steady and efficient as he frittered away at the pile, until finally, all of it was coated, fried and thrown into the bag.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Quickly, he cleaned up. No sense in letting the place burn down on accident! The fire was doused, the oil moved away to a corner. The batter was all used up, and the slices of fruit could stand to be eaten over the next few days. So, he had the workshop cleaned quickly, almost effortlessly. The problem now was getting properly _dressed_ for the cold outside. His fingers fumbled as he tried to tie his boots, before remembering different pants might be wise. Then it was trying to find his socks as well, and the scarf she had given him, from distant Whitewall! Whitewall! The coat had apparently been hung over their bed when he went looking for that, Luna only knowing how.  
  
Well, maybe Luna. Maybe he had thrown it up there, not her. Still! He got the coat on. Ran outside, only to curse at the cold. Mela spanked on her tits! The temperature difference was almost instantly freezing his sinuses, warning him he was going to be sniffling when he came back, but at least with her not there, he could make himself tea and hide away in their bed. Being miserable around her made him horribly guilty, especially with her never being sick.  
  
It took time to come to terms with one's weaknesses. He did what he could to make things easier, like keeping a path clear when it snowed, but when it fell like this... All he could do across the field was trudge as fast as he could. For a few moments, he fancied he could become like her this way, exploding into flames from the heat, but she'd laugh. She was no Dragon, after all.  
  
He wasn't gasping by the time he got across the field separating the village from their little workshop. Good. He was getting better. It was late enough in the morning that people had created pathways though the snow, roads he could dash across, the bag in hand. It couldn't be that hard to find her!  
  
Right?  
  
Down the streets, fast and hard. He could feel his throat burning already. He grabbed a handful of fresh snow to shove into his mouth for the sake of water. He thanked the foresight of the villagers to carve out pathways. Fast, faster, the world a blur of brown, white and gray, with moments of bright color, paint that hadn't been yet covered by snow. Each step was accompanied by three or four beats of his heart, a twinge of pain in the back of his legs, muscles being forced into ill use.  
  
It hurt.  
  
But if he could get there, it'd be worth it!  
  
People were at their daily toils, only sparing him a glance as he ran. Crunch, crunch. Around a corner where he thought he saw a scrap of familiar color. Nothing. He took a systemic pathway, weaving in and out of the streets that she preferred to haunt one by one, only to find nothing. People shrugged. She had gotten supplies the day before. They hadn't seen her today. Crunch, crunch.  
  
Nope, she had gotten things a few days ago. That was what the packing was for. He had seen it, hadn't he? She had been at the workshop two days ago.  
  
Had... had she left? Early? Without telling him? Dejected, he sat down on a barrel, panting for air, the fog misting around him. He wouldn't cry. Once he got his breath back, he'd have one of his creations, then go home. Then he would wallow in sadness and liquor for being what was apparently just a little too late...  
  
If he had been an animal, his ears would have perked. He could hear her, likely just on the other street. He glanced at the two alleyways filled with snow. Impassable. The roof maybe? There was enough snow and barrels...  
  
It was difficult. Even with the shingles giving grips to hold and scramble up, his hands were _cold_ , shaking. His throat was raw as he rasped for air. Carefully, he balanced himself, looking for her. There. He tried not to think of falling, tried not to think of it at all, to not tempt fate. He carefully turned and looked down, his heart lifting upward at the sight. A familiar fall of hair, the distinct blue and silver of clothes and robes-  
  
There she was!  
  
The next thing he heard, before he could call out her name, was the distinct shift of snow, that sound heralding an cascade as a sheet of cold moved as one at gravity's will.   
  
Wait.  
  
His weight!  
  
The second thing he heard, after the thundering crash of snow and the crunch of his face against it, was his name.   
  
It was in that familiar, sweet pitch, chased with a great deal of panic in his shoulder, his hands. He had been clenching the sack, he realized, hard enough that her fingers gently forcing them to unclench _hurt_ , and she was ignoring the precious bag, the thing he had raced to her side to give.  
  
Dainty, bird-like hands, pale brushed off the snow, her liquid eyes staring at him like he was some animal, a wounded one before she shook her head. He had known that stare, the one that would know he had sprained something, that he had dashed across and all over town to find her, and that he was panicking. She took a deep breath though her nose, then looked down at the bag.  
  
He had grunted, not as romantic as he had hoped, it had been for her, that it was in the bag, all of his hard work for the passing months. In the silence were the words, the terror he had, that he had been too late, that he had been trying to deliver a present before she left again, for weeks, for months, the love he felt, the embarrassment that she was so bright and smart and strong as she smoothly picked up the bag and opened it.  
  
She took out one of the crispy little crescents, one that had ended up attached to another, making a near-prefect ring. Thankfully, the bag had done its job, the ring retaining its warmth well enough to steam in the cold air. Curiously, she sniffed the ring, taking in the sweet, brandied smell that he knew well, and then bit into it with a satisfying _crunch_. The woman blinked, her eyes becoming wide, wider, almost owl-like in their size. The ring quickly vanished into her mouth, the black pupils of her eyes rolling back as she shivered, fishing out another piece of fruit and slowly biting into it, taking in the flavor and texture of his efforts.  
  
The smile across her face, the ecstasy and pleasure made it all worthwhile, the quiver in her touch as she reached out and squeezed his hands. There was still some of the treat in between her teeth there, but for once, the slight imperfection just made him laugh as she tugged him away, the golden-haired youth making a laughing excuse before beating a hasty retreat in the other direction.   
  
The gentle press against the wall around the corner made him suck in air, but her fingers delivering one of the treats to his lips kept better shivers down his spine, the silver lines on her skin flickering in response to licking the oil from her fingertips. She shook her tousled head as it melted smoothly in his mouth, apples and alcohol and crunch filling his senses. As he caught his breath, grinning as stupidly as he felt, she kissed his cheek and declared they were going back home.  
  
As they walked back, her slender frame leading the way, sharing the fritters, he stopped, realizing what she just said.  
  
Home. She called it home. Not the house. Not the workshop. She called it _home_.  
  
When she turned about to ask of his well-being, her mouth closed, approaching him and scooping his lanky frame up, her lips curled into a smile, knowing the word she had used.  
  
Home was where the heart was, she stated, silver glittering for emphasis. That was what mattered. Her work could wait a few days, and he was going to rest and she would share and enjoy the winter, to fritter the time away with the rest of the brandy and cider, a holiday away from the world. Another kiss and she crunched her way back home with her sweetheart in her arms.


End file.
